Inferiority is Complex

Eleanor Roosevelt once said “No one can ever make you feel inferior without your consent”. That’s a lovely saying, but seems to me that it is also extremely inaccurate.

Obviously, ER’s words are great ones to live by. “No one can bring you down”, “Keep your head high”, “Sticks and stones can break my bones, but words will never hurt me”, ” I am rubber, you’re glue–“. These are all phrases we teach kids in the world today, but are those really words to live by? I recently had a conversation with someone who is normally very self-confident. He excels in the face of adversity. He shines in every competition or challenge that is laid in front of him. He is a very lovable, likeable person. But, sometimes, apparently that just isn’t enough. Sometimes, being the best will make people want to bring you down.  For a person who always overcomes adversity, this is not anything that is difficult to overcome. This is a normal occurrence, people always want to bring down those who are on top. But, after a while, hearing that you’re worthless becomes more difficult.

As children, we learn how to speak from hearing others talk. We learn how to do things, by watching and listening to others. So, when we hear constant belittling and demeaning remarks, it is difficult to not begin associating that with reality. No matter what the truth or untruth, hearing that you’re terrible at something eventually seeps into your mind and has the ability to spoil everything.

Some I’ve talked to say that this is an initiation. That these “other” people are testing the waters, to see how strong this man is. My question is WHY?. Isn’t it difficult enough to survive in this world without having to go through a rite of passage everytime you begin something new? As an educator, and recent college graduate, maybe I am naive and optimistic. But, I am of the opinion that you should encourage someone who is trying something new. Positive reinforcement has been proven to be more effective than negative! So, why do we constantly try to bring down, or put challenges in the way of those who are excelling?

Red Flower, Green Stem

Today in Senior Seminar we read a poem that upset me. It was not about life or death, per say, though I might argue that it was about both. The poem was called “The Little Boy” by Helen E. Buckley.  It is a narrative poem about a little boy who goes to school. His teacher, though perhaps good intentioned, trains her class to follow directions. They draw red flowers with green stems. Each student’s flower looks identical. Later when he transfers to another school, and he is allowed to express creativity– he has none. He draws a red flower with a green stem, exactly the way his teacher told him to. The poem is extremely long, so i didn’t copy it on here, but I found it online, so here’s where you can find it.

http://home.bresnan.net/~cabreras/theboy.htm

The red flower syndrome is not something that I ever experienced as a child. My inability to follow directions , or to even listen, was actually good for me, it seems. In kindergarden, when my parents came for an open house,  they couldn’t help but notice all of the Orange Jack’O’Lanterns on the wall. Each Jack’O’Lantern had triangle eyes, and a round nose, and the same jagged tooth smile. Except mine. I had drawn a black pumpkin with a white ghost coming out of the top. I swear my father almost peed himself. He thought something was wrong with his baby girl. He immediately rushed to my teacher and asked her about the pumpkin picture. She had nothing but good things to say about my amazing piece of artwork.

But since I started college, the red flower syndrome resurfaced. I learned long ago to feel out professors, to determine whether or not to express my own opinion or the opinion that they wanted to hear. This is a skill that I mastered. But, I’m not sure if it is something I should be proud of. I am merely regurgitating the opinion that I have been told. My papers look exactly like every other paper in the class. But, I have given in. I have accepted defeat.

My little sister, on the other hand, will never fall victim to the red flower syndrome. She has her own opinions and beliefs. She recently was giving a bad grade by a professor, because she wrote something that the professor didn’t agree with. However, it won’t stop her. She has a strong will. That’s something that I admire.

Select A Box

Select A Box

They ask me to write down my race

And I think very seriously

And consider writing down the truth

And have my answer read

I am not a box.

I can’t be boxed.

I have history.

I am the ancestor of Cowboys and Outlaws,

The Younger Brothers share my blood.

You can follow the family tree back to Andrew Jackson,

Best known for his role as US President.

But my Papa worked for the GBI,

He helped Georgia towns fix their “Black Problem”.

I am a blend of nationalities.

The red hair gives me away as Irish,

My ancestors were refugees from the Potato famine.

Emily means Hard working

It is French/ German/ Latin/ Teutonic.

Who knows where that came from?

Wilcox is English and means son of Will.

We have a cross stitch of my family’s crest.

But Baird is a strong Scottish name,

Last year I picked up a scarf with the Baird tartan

I wear it with pride every winter.

I come from many places.

Dad’s parents are strong southern Baptists from Georgia,

And my father followed closely in their footsteps,

Though he married a woman, who was a Marine, A catholic, and a Yankee.

Mom didn’t know her mother’s first name.

Grandma Baird was an alcoholic.

Mom was 1 of 7 children.

She was in and out of foster care, and other homes,

From Kansas to Minnesota,

Depending on how life was going.

I moved around a few times as a child:

2 homes in Georgia, 2 in North Carolina, and then Tennessee.

I am an individual.

I love Sushi and Hot wings equally.

I am intrigued by history,

And I really only enjoy fiction.

I am passionate about travel,

And trying brand new things.

I strive to be independent,

And to have a life of my own.

“So what box do I fit in?

Is there a box that encompasses every facet of my being.

If you insist on ‘boxing’ me, listen to my story.”

I want to say.

But I stop

And simply write down:

White

To All Those Who Teach:

I recently read the words of famous poet, Walt Whitman. He wrote a letter directed towards all poets, with directions on how to live life. His words spoke to me, but I couldn’t help but wonder what the letter would have said if directed towards a teacher. Though I would never attempt to correlate my own words with those of Walt Whitman, I wrote such a letter. I feel that in a few weeks or months or even years, I will be able to look back on this when I need inspiration. Or perhaps, I will be able to look back on it, and say, “I did that.”

This is what you shall do:

Teach for a purpose, and not for a test, no matter what those around you tell you. Worry about your students, not their grades. In the end, they are young people, not numbers. Respect your students, and act like a role model. In return they will respect and admire you. Know your students. Know their strengths, their weaknesses, their extracurriculars, and their home life. It makes them more real, and you, more compassionate. Make friends with your colleagues; teaching is not just a job, it’s a lifestyle. If you have no joy—it’s not worth it. Create joy inside the classroom as well. Embrace your own creativity and wild side. Try something new every once in a while, break outside the box. Share your experiences with your class, they will appreciate this more than you realize. Give positive feedback whenever possible, it is easy to break the spirit of a child. Laugh. Smile. You are not robot, you are a real person. It is alright to enjoy yourself. Keep your composure. Sometimes you will want to cry or scream; smiling is the best way to recover. Reflect on yourself and your experiences. It makes you a better person. In all of this, though, be careful. Today’s world is much different than the last century. There are dangers that we might never consider.